Seasons of Love
by Anera527
Summary: Harry is being dragged down into a whirlpool of despair from Sirius's death. Add an attack from Death Eaters and the company of his magic-hating relatives, and he's just short of losing it completely.
1. Chapter 1

"_**Seasons of Love"**_

_Is this the real life?  
Is this just fantasy?  
Caught in a landslide  
No escape from reality  
Open your eyes  
Look up to the skies and see  
I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy  
Because I'm easy come, easy go  
A little high, little low  
Anyway the wind blows, doesn't really matter to me, to me_

_~Bohemian Rhapsody_, Queen

It was a silent, still night at Privet Drive, Surrey. Darkness enfolded the scene in velvety black, peppered with the familiar warmth of street lights. Cars sat silently in driveways so clean and spotless they could have been from a picture. The night had wrapped the homes and their occupants in sleep, unmindful of anything or anyone. All slept, that is, except one.

The clock on the stand was ticking in its annoying way, softly but still sharply, and Harry Potter's tired eyes watched its hands climb slowly in its automatic circle, wondering idly if he should follow his urge to simply destroy the stupid thing. His hands were itching to simply pick up the bloody clock and _completely_ _and utterly dismember it. _Normally, its quiet ticking didn't bother him, but this night was different somehow. It was such a tiny noise, something one might not even notice, but he noticed it, and it was driving him mad.

It should have worried him that all he was feeling was this silent, utterly illogical rage, but he cared about very little these days. Nothing mattered. Nothing at all. Since when did the world care what you were feeling? Harry had discovered over the years that it didn't care a damn for what tragedies had occurred in a life, even if you were left shattered and weeping on the floor. That was fine with him. He didn't give a damn about life, either. The facts still stood before him, plain and simple. Lord Voldemort was out there, wanting his blood. His Death eaters were out looking for the famous Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. Harry himself was stuck in his aunt and uncle's house for his own protection, cut off from the magical world. And every morning, he woke up into a world without Sirius Black.

The knowledge of his godfather's death still struck him even now, four weeks after it actually happened. Still it would seize him in a vice-like grip and squeeze his chest until there were times where he thought he couldn't breathe. Still he waited desperately to wake up from this nightmare, unable to believe that his godfather had actually died.

_He can't have died. He can't have left me, too._

At times he felt crushing fury directed at his godfather, screaming at Sirius, asking him why he had to die. Why he left Harry alone, why he abandoned him to a world that had lost its mind completely. Just as quickly, however, he would remember that it was his fault that Sirius had died. It had been Harry himself who had fallen for Voldemort's false vision, and led his godfather to the Ministry of Magic, where he had fallen through the veil.

There hadn't even been a body afterwards.

It was in those moments that left Harry sometimes simply curled up on the floor of his room, unable to breathe, feeling himself suffocating beneath all the absolute self-loathing and mad hatred that was directed at himself.

_And that stupid clock wouldn't stop ticking!_

Driven by a sudden blast of fury, he finally allowed his need to get out and his hands knocked the clock from its stand, where it clattered on the floor loudly. Driven on, he heard the ticking even from where he was and leapt up from the mattress and continued to do whatever he could to utterly destroy the stupid thing. He kicked it and smashed it until nothing was left except a pile of shattered glass and broken metal parts. Looking down at it, he felt a rush of vindictive pleasure, feeling like he had finally gotten control of something, even if it was something as trivial as a ticking machine.

If only he had known better.

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The next afternoon, he left the house for a walk, unable to sit still. He wanted fresh air, even if it was a walk through the town he had grown to despise. He despised all the order Privet Drive had. Nothing was messed up, everything was trimmed and washed and perfect. Maintained and upheld. He had grown used to the chaos of the wizarding world, and he rather preferred it better, if not for the media. He really hated being the Boy Who Lived, famous for the first downfall of Voldemort. For him, it was the night his parents were murdered. The night in which he had lost everything.

Who wanted to be famous for that?

But here he was, the most famous wizard in Britain, and he was currently walking along the streets of a muggle town, mourning the loss of a man no one else had seemed to care about. It didn't seem right that Sirius had died a fugitive, hunted by the law for a crime he had not committed.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost didn't hear something approaching him until it was too late. At the very last instant, though, he heard a hissing breath behind him, almost a sound of triumph, and it sent a shiver down his spine. That was not the Order guard that was watching him like they always did—this was hostile.

_Death Eaters!_

He gripped his wand and even as he heard that hissing breath coming closer, he spun on his heel and looked around. Even as he moved, however, he heard something else, something on his left, move away, and his heart started to pound. They were boxing him in. Reining him somewhere where they could grab him! Even as he realized that, his stalkers seemed to realize that their prey was no longer ignorant of their presence and pounced. Harry heard feet on the cement, and he turned and ran, his senses flying, trying to find out where they were. He heard someone snarl a curse, and a jet of red light shot past him.

Definitely Death Eaters.

"Going somewhere, Potter?" a familiar voice sneered, close to his right, and Harry, acting on instinct, sent a Stunner that direction. The person there deflected it, but for an instant the Disillusionment spell on them lifted, and Harry caught sight of the pale grey eyes and white-blonde hair of Lucius Malfoy.

Shit.

_Author's Note: Like it? Hate it? Interesting enough? Too weird? This is something I came up with when listening to _Bohemian Rhapsody_ by Queen. Look for the update whenever. We've only just begun! _

_And I hope Harry's thoughts weren't too dark. I always thought he would be really depressed after Sirius's death, just with feeling generally abandoned and all that. I personally think he wasn't sad enough in the actual book. And no, you're not going to be seeing any emo, cutting-wrists Harry—you can be really depressed without ever maiming yourself. Trust me, I know. Next chap we'll see if Harry escapes the Death Eaters!_


	2. Chapter 2

"_**Chapter 2"**_

"Going somewhere, Potter?"

Shit, shit, _shit_!

How was Lucius Malfoy out of Azkaban prison? Hadn't Dumbledore caught him the same as most of the Death Eaters at the Ministry of Magic? Voldemort wouldn't have rescued him, would he? Harry almost snorted. Fat chance of that. The day Voldemort _rescued_ anybody was the day he became a man who wore pink. Harry sent another Stunner Malfoy's way, keeping himself from just standing there, knowing that there were others out there, waiting to strike.

"Normally when you're walking out you're _going somewhere_," he retorted angrily, unable to keep himself from speaking. He lifted a Shield Charm as the Death Eaters sent different spells screaming his way, and the combined power of them all caused him to stagger beneath their onslaught.

"Give up, Potter!" Malfoy called, his voice already triumphant.

Still fending off spells, Harry shot him a look of pure venom, his fury giving him strength. "When Hell freezes over!" he snarled.

But his anger made him reckless. The next time he lowered his Shield, aiming for Malfoy, a random curse came and hit him in the leg. Hissing with its sudden pain, he spun—

And was knocked off his feet by a wave of agony so intense it left him screaming on the pavement. Then it passed, but before he could do so much as gasp for breath, winded, he was hauled up on shaky legs. His wand was ripped forcibly from his hands, and he felt strong, cruel hands wrap around his arms, holding him in an iron grip. Another hand wrapped itself around his mouth, and still trying to get over the effects of the Cruciatus Curse, he bit the fingers that were silencing his cries, and immediately he felt blood run into his mouth. There was a muffled curse and he was hit hard over the head, so hard he was dazed, but still he struggled, and he saw through straining eyes ten figures come into view, lifting the Concealing Charms off themselves. They were all Death Eaters who had been there at the Ministry and had been captured. He struggled even more, knowing what they were here for, clawing and ripping and biting, desperate to get away, but there were too many of them, and soon they had overpowered him. He felt himself bodily lifted by two sets of arms, and a gag was tied around his mouth.

He was carried, still struggling, to the park that he often walked to while here at Privet Drive. There he saw two others waiting, but before he could get more than a glimpse, he was hit again, and he doubled over, gasping as pain exploded in his stomach. In his distraction, he felt someone kneel before him and suddenly something tough and scratchy was wrapped around his throat. He choked, and felt a wave of terror wash over him as he realized what they were planning on doing.

"You've caused us all too much trouble, Potter," he heard Malfoy say triumphantly. "No one will realize it was us—after all, what Death Eater would resort to Muggle methods when dealing with a wizard?" There were answering shouts of triumphant laughter, and Harry was again placed under the Cruciatus Curse. Again he was assaulted with fiery agony, and he writhed on the ground, screaming until he couldn't scream anymore, and then it was lifted, and he felt the same rough hands grab him and lead him, stumbling and winded, to the lone tree that stood in the park's perimeters.

It happened quickly. He could still hear the Death Eaters jeering and laughing, but his blood was pounding through his head, fury building up deep in his gut. He felt the rope around his neck tighten, and suddenly he was jerked into the air. The rope tightened painfully around his throat, and he felt it crushing his windpipe as he fought for breath, choking as he couldn't. Incredible! They weren't even trying to kill him in as a wizard, they were going to kill him in the most cliché Muggle way, by hanging him until he was actually dead. Even as he struggled against the rope that was stealing his life, he could not miss the irony of this situation, losing his life in a Muggle way, in a Muggle neighborhood.

"How's that feel, Potter?" he heard Malfoy taunt him. "Not so high-and-mighty now, are you?"

He could not draw breath, and he felt his heart pumping frantically in his chest, felt his lungs seize in their attempts to breathe. The rope tightened even more tightly around his neck, and he thrashed, choking, knowing even as he struggled that he was feet off the ground. He heard the Death Eaters all laughing and jeering, and fury suddenly surged up inside of him like_ that_ was his blood, and he screamed as loudly as he could; but that was nothing. Even as his hold on consciousness slipped away he felt a fiery, crackling energy break over his skin, warm and biting but not painful, flowing throughout his whole body like a maelstrom. There was suddenly a tremendous explosion of noise, the Death Eaters cried out, Harry felt himself hit the ground, suddenly able to _breathe_ again—

And everything went black.

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Nymphodora Tonks, Harry's lookout for the Order of the Phoenix that day, had seen the Death Eaters' appearance and attack. The boy had damn good senses, but he couldn't escape so many, and Tonks knew that by herself there was no hope to save him, not against ten-plus highly trained followers of Voldemort. She was an Auror, the best of the best of wizard Duelers, but not even she was that good.

Reinforcements were needed.

In only a moment she had called the Order there—Remus Lupin, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mad-Eye Moody, and Arthur Weasley all answered her. Immediately they followed the trail of the Death Eaters, who had stopped in the park where Harry had spent a lot of his time at last summer. The sight that greeted them froze them in their tracks.

"Sweet Merlin," Arthur breathed. Even Mad-Eye looked ready to spit fire. The sight of Harry's thrashing body hanging from the tree was too horrible to put into words, and the sheer _Muggleness_ of it shook them to their cores. It was Remus who moved first. Tonks knew he considered Harry the closest he would ever have as a son, and protected him as if he was his own blood. With a low growl of anger, he drew his wand and raced forward before anyone could stop him.

Almost immediately, however, they were brought up short again. "What in Merlin's name-?" Tonks whispered, and she saw the others' faces whiten.

"What's happening to him?" Arthur asked in stunned disbelief, because even as they watched, frozen with wands held fast in white-knuckled hands, they saw a strange blue glow start flowing up Harry's arms and down his body, uncontrollable and so alive with power that the Order members, still some ten meters away, felt their skin caressed by a warm, enveloping cocoon of pure energy. The hair on their arms and necks stood on end.

They had no warning, but suddenly the energy they felt surged up so they felt themselves actually stumble back a step, and the magic exploded with the force of a small bomb. Instinctively, they all raised Shield Charms, which melted together into one as a storm of blue fire swept over them, but even protected so heavily they felt a high charge of energy shoot through them like a heavy-powered shock. And then it was over, the blue flames were gone, and the Order members were left to gaze upon what was there.

The Death Eaters were gone. Completely gone. Tonks looked shakily at the others as they all realized as one—they had heard them cry out in dismay and fear an instant before everything exploded. They had not had time to run or Apparate away—they were just gone. The playground was scorched and burnt, and the tree that had been standing there just moments ago had been burnt to almost nothing. And there, lying face-down in the blackened dirt—the grass had been completely burned away—was Harry. They all moved towards him at the same time, casting protective and concealment enchantments around the area.

He was very still. His clothing, what remained of them, anyway, were smoking and covered with ash. His skin, flushed red by the magic that had escaped his hold, was hot and feverish. Remus, his hands shaking terribly, turned the boy over onto his back. The rope that had been tied around his neck was gone, as were his glasses. His long black hair had been badly singed and, most alarmingly, there was a bright burn that ran down his left cheek and down his neck and torso. His arms, too, were badly burned. But he was alive, breathing albeit shallowly, and that was what mattered.

"That magic would have disintegrated us," Arthur whispered, very white in the face.

"If we hadn't gotten our Shield Charms up in time…" Kingsley agreed softly, but even his deep, soothing voice trembled.

"If we had all used our own Shield Charms, we'd all be dead," Mad-Eye growled, and his large magic eye was swirling around menacingly. "An individual Shield Charm wouldn't have stopped that."

"But what caused it?" Arthur asked shakily, kneeling beside Remus. "That wasn't just accidental magic!"

"It was powerful enough to be Dark," Moody said in his usual growling way.

"It didn't feel Dark, Mad-Eye," Tonks protested, rolling her eyes in exasperation. The others all agreed silently; although powerful, the surge of magic that had swept over them had felt warm and light, unlike the dark and oppressive edge to Dark magic. Tonks personally rather thought that the magic Harry had unconsciously released had felt almost joyous, like a bird that was finally freed. Despite the knowledge that it could have killed them all, she thought it had been a pleasant sensation—she certainly wasn't feeling the least bit tired now. Forget Mad-Eye with his usual paranoia—he'd spent too much time fighting Dark wizards.


End file.
